


of ice and fire

by candy_bong



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon up to Season 7, F/F, Kind of a rewrite of their meeting, Light Angst, Rivals to Lovers, brief mention of Cersei, brief mention of Littlefinger, brief mention of Margaery, kinda canon kinda not, possible description of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2020-04-05 04:00:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19040713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candy_bong/pseuds/candy_bong
Summary: In which the circumstances are different, and Sansa can learn to love songs again.





	1. ice and fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the circumstances are different, and Sansa can learn to love songs again.

The North collectively held its breath as the Targaryen Queen came to Winterfell, with her Unsullied and her Dothraki, and her two dragons. Sansa had always known there was power in beauty, but seeing fire made flesh with her own eyes reaffirmed her knowledge.

Sansa had seen many beautiful women in her life: her mother, Cersei, Margaery… she’d seen them, admired them, learnt from them. She’d seen beauty in its rawest form, yet nothing had prepared her for Daenerys Stormborn’s beauty.

 

“The North is as beautiful as Jon claimed,” the silver haired woman spoke sweetly, a smile on her face that didn’t quite reach her eyes, “as are you, My Lady.”

The Queen was much shorter than Sansa, but she seemed tall because of the way she held herself, head high, almost defiant.

Sansa bowed, a similarly fake smile on her lips, “Winterfell is yours, Your Grace.”

 

* * *

 

Sansa regarded the Targaryen Queen quietly as she spoke with Jon in the courtyard; watching them converse about something from her position at the balcony, until Arya snuck up on her.

“What do you think of her?” her sister questioned her, barely waiting for an answer before proceeding, “I think she’s haughty, a bit… full of herself, if I’m being honest.”

Sansa had to laugh at that, “Don’t let her entourage hear you say that. Besides, maybe she does have a right to be haughty.”

Arya hummed in what seemed like agreement, leaning on the wooden rails, asking suddenly, “Do you think she has a thing for Jon?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she does.”

The sisters stood there and watched until Daenerys and Jon walked back into the castle, even at this distance, each one of Daenerys’ braids could be seen clearly, a mark of her winning battles, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea had not forgotten her roots.

 

* * *

 

“What do dragons eat anyway?”

“Whatever they want.”

The exchange had put everyone in the room on edge, Arya just stared at Sansa, waiting for a reaction, but Sansa turned to look Daenerys in the eye, and was that a twinkle in the Targaryen’s eye? She’d never know, thanks to Jon’s awkward coughing, a truly horrible attempt at breaking the tension in the hall. It worked like a charm, as everyone went back to eating. At night, Sansa twisted and turned under her furs, trying to make sense of the Dragon Queen’s words; of course, it seemed like a threat, being a dragon and taking what you want, eating whichever animal, person they wanted, but that didn’t explain the look in Daenerys’ eye. Sansa closed her eyes, forced herself to go to sleep, and dreamt of a black and red dragon.

 

* * *

  

“My Lady,” Daenerys greeted her, bowing her head slightly, which confused Sansa and Missandei, who was right beside the Queen, “would you mind showing me around Winterfell? Jon said he would but he seemed rather occupied with preparations for the upcoming battle, I did not want to interrupt him.” She sounded almost apologetic, yet hopeful.

Sansa nodded, “Of course, Your Grace,” feeling Daenerys loop her arm around hers… it reminded her of how Margaery would do the same, as they walked through the gardens of King’s Landing, she now realises that the Tyrells were all using her, but that was a different issue.

“I have heard much about the godswood,” Daenerys began, turning to look up at Sansa, “would you mind taking me there, My Lady?”

“Of course. Are you a worshipper of the Old Gods?”

“We are alone, you can call me Daenerys,” the silver haired woman laughed, “and no, I’m not a worshipper of any of the Gods. Not sure I believe in any of them, to be honest.”

“Your Grace, you can’t keep calling me My Lady then!” Sansa allowed herself a smile, her eyes drawn to the other woman’s intensely intricate braids, they truly were beautiful, “And I think I can understand that a little bit. For a while, I was sure the Gods weren’t looking at me either.” Sansa looked away almost immediately; it was a different time, now her troubles were different too, and one was currently holding onto her arm.

Daenerys hummed in acknowledgement and didn’t push the matter further. They rounded a corner and instantly, Sansa heard Daenerys gasp in what surely was awe. They stepped into the godswood, the silver haired woman moving ahead of Sansa while taking her glove off of one hand, capturing some snow with it. She giggled with almost childlike glee as the snow which fell on her hand remained there, not melting, unrelenting, and cold. The North in its truest form, in the palm of Daenerys Targaryen, yet she could do nothing to control it. The woman turned back around to look at Sansa, a smile on her face.

“You don’t trust me, do you?”

Sansa was taken aback by the sudden question, but didn’t show any change in her demeanour, kept her face straight.

“I don’t trust your intentions, no.”

“Hmm, I thought as much,” Daenerys dropped the snow from her hand, moving back towards Sansa, “tell me, My Lady, how do I make you trust me?”

“I suppose there is no way you can, Your Grace.” There was a possibility of her decision to be candid with the Dragon Queen could backfire; she took the risk anyway.

“I brought my armies here, my dragons, to this cold winter land. To fight _your_ war.”

“It’s a war of the living, you could’ve marched on King’s Landing, sacked the city and sat on the Iron Throne, and you would still have to deal with the army of the dead, Your Grace,” she tried hard to not let any venom seep into her voice, maintain a level head. For Jon’s sake.

“I suppose you are right, Lady Sansa.”

For a moment, Sansa was too preoccupied to register what the Queen had said, too preoccupied with the way her name rolled off of the Queen’s tongue. After a few moments passed, she realised that she’d actually agreed with her. She blinked once. Twice. Until Daenerys laughed.

“It was a sound military decision.”

“And what happens after the war?”

Suddenly, Daenerys wasn’t laughing anymore, not smiling either.

“I take the Iron Throne and rule the Seven Kingdoms.”

“And that is precisely why I am yet to trust you, Your Grace.”

The godswood was always a calm and serene place. It seemed a lot colder after Sansa spoke those words. The snowflakes fell onto the other woman’s silver blonde hair, one fell right onto her eyelash before she blinked and it disappeared. The violet of her eyes seemed to be glittering, not unlike precious gemstones.

“You want the North to be a free kingdom.”

“We fought for it, we took it back, and now you want us to bend the knee.”

“ _You_ don’t have to, your brother already did that for you,” Daenerys’ nose flared in anger.

“I am not my brother, Your Grace.”

“No, you’re much prettier.”

It wasn’t untrue, what she’d said about Sansa, her red hair contrasting the white snow, her white coat was covered with snow: a perfect mirror image of Daenerys Stormborn, who was wearing a deep red coat. They looked like a song - Sansa, the Ice Queen, with her fiery red hair, and Daenerys, the Dragon Queen, with her icy white hair.

The tension was broken by Daenerys herself, “Thank you for showing me the godswood, Lady Sansa. It is, as I had heard, magnificent.”

“It was no matter, Your Grace,” Sansa responded politely, leading the Queen back into the castle.

 

* * *

 

Jon was restless, wouldn’t stop pacing up and down the hall; he kept looking at Bran, Sansa and Arya, the only ones present in there. Would stop randomly, open his mouth and then close it again.

“Jon.”

It still was unnerving; hearing Bran speak in such an emotionless tone. It did make Jon stop in his tracks though.

“Right,” he spoke gruffly, taking a breath, “I have something to tell you two,” he gestured vaguely towards Sansa and Arya, making them frown slightly. Well, it was mostly Arya who frowned, Sansa’s curiosity just kept growing. A moment passed before he continued, “I’m not… I’m not who you think I am. I – I’m not your brother.”

“Jon. What do you mean, of course you’re my brother.” Arya stood up from her seat, moving towards him, “What do you mean, Jon?”

“I’m… your cousin, actually.”

Now Sansa frowned, he reminded her of her father at this moment, too cryptic for his own good. Arya hit him on the arm, “A cousin is still a brother, stupid.”

“My mother was your aunt, my father… well, he was -”

“Rhaegar Targaryen,” Sansa breathed out, drawing their attention towards her. Jon nodded in confirmation.

“He was never a bastard, if that’s what you’re wondering,” how Bran seemed to know that is what she was thinking baffled Sansa. Then again, most things about him baffled her nowadays. “They were married.”

“Rhaegar stole Lyanna from her home,” Arya snapped.

“She ran away with him,” Bran looked at Jon, “they were in love.”

Robert’s Rebellion was based on a lie.

“My name is not Jon. It’s Jaeherys.”

“Jon or not, you’re still my brother,” Arya said, while hugging him, “Targaryen or not, you’re still my brother.”

Sansa put her hand on his shoulder, before joining in on the hug.

“You’ll always be our brother, Jon.”

 

It was odd sometimes, thinking about how indifferent Sansa was towards Jon when she was younger. Here she was now, assuring him that he is their sibling, no matter what his heritage is, no matter how his claim to the Iron Throne is better than the Dragon Queen’s.

 

* * *

 

Jon chose not to reveal his newly discovered truth to the rest of The North just yet, but he did want to tell the Targaryen Queen. Sansa had seen the way he used to look at the silver haired woman, she had to wonder whether something had happened between them. That would explain why he’d bent the knee to her, why she’d agreed to help The North, despite what the Queen had said about it being a good military decision.

It was a good day today, the skies were clear, the wintry sun was warm enough. There was a knock on her door, sharp and short.

“The Queen would like to have an audience with you, My Lady,” Missandei informed her in her soft voice as she opened the door.

Sansa nodded, pulling on her leather gloves before walking out of her room, allowing herself to be led by the Queen’s closest companion. She pondered upon it for a brief second before deciding to make conversation.

“Where are you from originally, Missandei, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“From Naath, My Lady.”

“Tell me more about it.”

“There’s beaches,” Missandei reminisced, a smile lighting up her face, it was then that Sansa realized that she was just as young as her, if not younger, “and the fruit tastes different.”

“Different how?”

“It’s got more… flavour, I suppose? Taste! Westeros is cold.” ‘The North even colder’ went unspoken.

 

They soon reached the clearing outside Winterfell, Missandei taking her leave with a bow once Daenerys’ petite figure could be seen. She seemed to be holding something in her hand, becoming more noticeable as Sansa walked close towards her. Her dragons descended rather suddenly, blocking the sun from hitting Sansa’s face, landing before their mother with a massive gust of wind that made the rocks quiver around her feet. The green one nudged Daenerys with his snout, making her laugh, a sweet bell-like sound, a real laugh, not one reserved for the court room, while the bigger one, Drogon, Sansa remembered, kept his eyes locked on her. Did he think she was a threat to his mother? As if hearing her thoughts, he huffed towards her, blowing white smoke out of his nostrils, drawing the Dragon Queen’s attention to her finally.

“Forgive his manners,” Daenerys began, running her hand over his snout, she was so small beside his gigantic form, almost miniscule, “he’s a child. Drogon, _behave_.” She stared at him, he huffed again, but this time, in finality.

The sight warmed her heart, it reminded Sansa of Lady, of her naivety, of how far she’d come.

“They’re… magnificent creatures, Your Grace,” she moved closer, her curiosity winning out over any possible fear of being, well… eaten. Daenerys seemed pleased at her bravery? Or maybe it was foolishness, and Sansa had just perfectly set herself up to be a dragon’s lunch. The other woman stood beside her now, as the green-gold dragon, came forward to sniff at her. Rhaegal, he was called, named after Daenerys’ brother. Her hand itched, wanting to reach out and touch him. Arya would be so jealous if she knew.

“He likes you,” Daenerys breathed out, her voice full of awe, yet a little amused as she continued, “go on, touch him. He won’t bite.” She fixed her with a look then, the same twinkle Sansa had seen in her eyes that day, in the great hall. _Whatever they want_. The sunlight caught her eyes, the violet shone brilliantly. She reached out then, taking her glove off, which would’ve been a mistake had Rhaegal not being so incredibly warm. Fire made flesh, she gasped as her hand made contact with his scaly snout, and he puffed out a bit of smoke, warming her entire body up and making her laugh. He purred as Sansa’s hand moved, rubbing the area around his nostril, the sound resonating deep within her chest. Daenerys’ hand joined hers, scratching his jaw, “Come on then, climb him.”

Sansa’s face fell at that notion, her hand stilling right near the dragon’s mouth.

“You can’t be serious.”

Daenerys nodded, already climbing onto Drogon’s back.

“I absolutely am serious. He won’t throw you off, Sansa,” she said her name softly, like a whisper, a secret to be kept for her and no one else. “He trusts you. All you have to do is –”

“Trust him,” Sansa finished, gathering her overcoat and putting her foot on Rhaegal’s wing, which he had moved, making it easier for her to climb. What a ridiculously thoughtful dragon, she thought to herself as she shifted, finding a comfortable position on the back of his neck. “What do I hold on to?”

“Just anything you can firmly grip!”

“What if I hurt him?”

Daenerys laughed, as Drogon’s wings started beating, raising them off the ground, she looked every bit like the Targaryen conquerors who’d come to Westeros all those years ago, beautiful and lethal at the same time, “You won’t!” she yelled back at the red-haired woman.

Rhaegal screeched happily, her body lurched forward, finding nothing but the scales on his back to hold on to as his body rose up into the air to follow his brother and mother, “Sorry!” she apologised, patting the scales she’d caught hold of, but the dragon didn’t seem to mind.

The wind rushed by her ears, the cold wintry air hitting her face, she could see Daenerys in front of her, looking back while laughing. Gods, she looked gorgeous with those braids, her hair flowing behind her. Drogon rose higher and Rhaegal followed instantly, it was like they were racing each other through the clouds, Sansa yearned to reach out and touch the cloud but couldn’t as they approached another clearing. The other dragon slowed down and landed, his mother climbing off and coming over to help Sansa do the same. Her heart was in her mouth all this time, Sansa realised as Rhaegal landed on the solid ground, she took two quick breaths, grasping the Dragon Queen’s outstretched hand and jumping off of the dragon’s back. The other woman laughed at her breathlessness, the act coaxing a smile and then a laugh out of Sansa too. She didn’t let go of her hand just yet.

“I feel like my insides have left my body!”

“Yes, that happened to me the first time I flew on Drogon too,” Daenerys giggled, squeezing Sansa’s hand lightly, “It’s exhilarating, no?”

“It really is,” Sansa breathed out, struck by how close Daenerys was to her right now, how delicate yet sharp her features were, how all she wanted to do was lean down, close the gap between them, take Daenerys’ lips within hers; they looked soft, impossibly so. She wondered whether the other woman would kiss her back, wondered whether she would push her away, give her to the dragons. Sansa couldn’t stop herself, settling for pushing a stray lock of hair away from Daenerys’ face and behind her ear, it must’ve fallen out of the tight braids somehow. And Daenerys didn’t step away from her, no, in fact, she got even closer if that was possible.

“I wanted to do this with your brother, actually,” she began, her voice as quiet as a whisper, as though they were surrounded by people who would use this against the two women. It’s alright though, isn’t it? Littlefinger was dead, as dead as he could be. Sansa wasn’t too surprised by Daenerys’ admission, she’d seen the way the silver haired woman looked at Jon, and she knew the incest thing wouldn’t bother the Targaryen anyway. “Though I hear he’s not really your brother.”

Ah, so Jon had already told her.

“Were you hoping to feed him to your dragons?” Sansa blurted out, unable to contain her thoughts.

Daenerys laughed at that, a full laugh with her teeth bared, as her hand reached up to tame a wild lock of Sansa’s wind-blown hair. “Do you actually think I’d feed my only family to my dragons, Sansa?”

Sansa’s cheeks flushed bright red, her blush wildly visible in the sunlight, “Then… why?” She left her question unfinished.

The silver-haired woman stepped away, patting and scratching Drogon’s neck, “Dragons know the distinction between friend and foe better than most humans, you know. Even your former lord husband makes errors in his judgement of people. But dragons?” Sansa felt Rhaegal before his snout came up beside her, “Dragons know before we do.”

“Like direwolves,” Sansa stated, putting both hands on Rhaegal’s obnoxiously large face, he closed his eyes as she patted him.

“Hmm?”

“They’re like direwolves in that regard, Your Grace. They know people.”

“Daenerys,” the woman corrected her, walking over to her and the green-gold dragon, “I understand that you once had a direwolf of your own?”

“I did,” she smiled at the memory of Lady, forcing herself not to think of what had followed. She couldn’t control the inflection of sadness in her voice though, “she – she was killed on the orders of Cersei.”

“What a bitch.”

Sansa laughed, “You’re right about that part.” Daenerys grinned at her, her hand coming closer to Sansa’s, Rhaegal was happy being showered with love and affection by the two of them. “Northerners don’t fare well in The South.”

The Targaryen Queen turned to look at her fully then, wringing her hands in front of her, “I’ve been meaning to speak to you about that actually.”

Expecting the worst, Sansa twisted her body towards the other woman, stilling her movements. The day was full of surprises, it seemed as Daenerys continued talking.

“I’ve decided that ruling Six Kingdoms wouldn’t be so bad.”

She blinked at Daenerys, did she –

“As of today, The North is a free kingdom, independent as it once was centuries ago.” Daenerys nodded after finishing her spiel, as if to accentuate her statement.

“Your Gra – Daenerys, I…” Sansa had not expected the woman to declare the freedom of The North, not after their talk in the godswood the other day.

“I will make the same statement in front of all the lords and ladies of The North soon, so you needn’t worry about me retracting it suddenly.”

“If you don’t mind me asking… what made you change your mind? You seemed pretty intent on keeping us a part of the Seven Kingdoms earlier.”

“You were right, Sansa. The North and northerners have suffered enough under the rule of Southron kings and queens. What The North needs is a fearless ruler, and it already has one,” she explained, Sansa’s mind immediately went to Jon, “Someone who rode a dragon merely minutes after being introduced to him.” Daenerys looked at her as she said that, the familiar twinkle in her violet eyes was back, “my nephew is a good man, a good leader, don’t get me wrong, but he has _no bloody_ _interest_ in ruling whatsoever.” She sounded almost exasperated.

“I suppose he told you he didn’t want the Iron Throne?”

“Obviously!” Daenerys made her voice deeper, a poor imitation of Jon’s gruff tone, “I don’t want it, Dany, I have no interest in ruling.”

Sansa continued in a similar deep voice, “I have never wanted a crown or a throne! I just want to take a nap!”

The two women’s laughter reverberated throughout the area, drawing the attention of the dragons. Drogon stirred, but didn’t get up, whereas Rhaegal purred at them.

“He’s quite taken with you,” their mother spoke, her attention was focused purely on Sansa, “I don’t blame him.”

Sansa looked away from the dragon in question and at the one in front of her, “I…happen to be quite taken with him too.”

“Good,” is all Daenerys said before she reached up, claiming Sansa’s lips with her own, they really were impossibly soft, and intensely warm. ‘Fire made flesh’ is all Sansa could think of, wrapping her arms around the smaller woman’s waist, pulling her closer. Daenerys swiped at her lower lip with her tongue, and Sansa complied, giving access to her long and dexterous tongue, meeting her halfway in their hungry yet slow kiss. Their mouths fit together perfectly, their bodies too; saying it was something that was meant to be would be foolish and naïve, but Sansa could let herself believe that for a moment. She didn’t believe in songs anymore, but she’d believe in this song.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's dedicated to rebi (@wondercarols), my fellow daensa supporter <333


	2. precipice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Great War is coming, and with it, comes a seemingly unending winter.

“The Queen in The North!”

“The Queen in The North!”

“The Queen in The North!”

The great hall almost quivered with the loud shouts of the northerners, the table was most definitely shaking, Jon’s face was resplendent with joy while Arya grinned madly at her. Sansa turned to look at Daenerys, standing beside Jon in front of her, and on cue, the silver-haired Queen raised her cup, just as Jon and Arya took out their respective swords and added to the wild chanting of the northerners.

The celebration at the newly gained freedom of The North was short-lived however; Tormund and his party, along with Edd of the Night’s Watch came bearing the news of the progress of the Army of The Dead. The atmosphere changed within what seemed like mere minutes, as everyone hurried to outfit themselves with weapons, the blacksmiths were already working hard, but with the added pressure of the possibility of the Army arriving within a day’s time, the anvils were struck faster than ever, the smoke from their workshops never lessening.

 

* * *

 

“Women and children should stay in the crypts,” someone said.

“The dead are already here,” Sansa stated, “the crypts are not safe for people who can’t defend themselves.”

Jon nodded, “She’s right, the Night King raises people back from the dead. We need to find someplace else for them.”

“We can put them in the Library Tower,” Sansa added, pointing out the location of it on the map in front of them, “Increase the defences, and fortify the windows and doors. It’s big enough to accommodate everyone, including some soldiers.” She looked at Daenerys then.

“Grey Worm shall see to it that a battalion is with them,” the Queen tapped the table with her fingers, “Meanwhile, I’ll go ahead and scout out the Army.”

The room immediately rang out with protests, mostly from Jorah and Tyrion.

“Your Grace, you can’t!”

“I have two dragons, I can.”

“Do you want to add two more _and_ yourself to the Night King’s Army?”

Everyone turned to look at Sansa as soon as she said it; it didn’t deter her from continuing.

“The Army is coming for us regardless, we don’t need any self-sacrificial acts, Daenerys.”

Either Daenerys had eyes only for Sansa at the moment, or she didn’t see the shocked expressions of the rest of the war council out of her peripheral vision, or she did see them and pretended not to. She ducked her head though, a small smile playing on her lips.

“How do we defeat them then?” Davos asked, breaking the silence in the room.

“The Night King controls them. If we destroy him…” Jon trailed off.

“Would dragonfire kill him?” Arya turned around to question Bran, drawing the attention of Sansa and Daenerys instantly.

“No one’s ever tried.”

“We know Valyrian steel can kill white walkers…”

"And we don't have enough to spare."

Daenerys spoke again, commanding the attention of the war council, "We do have dragonglass however. I know the blacksmiths are hard at work, fashioning it into weapons as we speak. We have two dragons. We have multiple battle hardened commanders," she glanced at Jon, Jorah, Davos, and even Jaime, "most of whose names seem to start with a 'J'", she added, drawing a chuckle from the entire room, including one from Arya and a small, now uncharacteristic, smile from Bran as well.

"We may make it through this yet."

It wasn't enough maybe, Sansa could sense it, Jon could sense it, Arya could sense it, Bran probably knew the extent of the truth of Daenerys' impromptu speech. It scared them, the reality of the winter finally being here, despite this being something the Starks knew since birth. Daenerys held the attention of the room nonetheless, she did know how to give a rousing speech at the eve of what was certain to be a long, hard battle, no, a war.

 

* * *

 

Sansa was in the process of undoing her braid in front of her mirror when two sharp knocks on the door broke her thoughts. She sighed, rising from her seat to open the door. At this hour, who’d be – oh.

“Do you mind taking a walk with me?” Daenerys questioned apologetically, noting the woman’s half-open braid. Seeing Sansa’s quizzical expression, she clarified further, “I can’t sleep and I don’t know my way around.” She kept fiddling with the loose threads on her night gown, something was clearly on her mind.

“Of course. Come in for a minute, let me,” Sansa stepped back inside, inviting the Queen into her chambers, “just get a coat or something…”

Daenerys strode in, her tone teasing, “Inviting me into your bedchambers at this hour, Your Grace? What would people think?” She watched the red-haired woman unravel the rest of her tight braid, tilting her head slightly. Sansa didn’t miss the way a shiver ran down her spine when Daenerys said ‘Your Grace’, she rolled her eyes all the same, looking at the other woman through her mirror.

The Dragon Queen laughed slightly at Sansa’s eye roll, closing the door to the Queen’s chambers as she entered. Her eyes ran over Sansa’s form, which seemed to have gotten more regal since the public announcement of her queenship. Daenerys’ gaze lingered on the Queen’s shoulders, when the said Queen turned around to meet her eyes, a soft smile on her lips. Neither of them had forgotten about their kisses that they shared at the clearing; Sansa’s lips tingled at the memory, of their kiss starting out sweet, slow and soft, gradually becoming heated, as if the ice around the two of them would melt by the time the two women parted. Every fibre of her wanted a repeat of that day, and judging by the way Daenerys’ eyes flitted down to her lips, she wouldn’t be completely wrong in guessing that so did Daenerys. She tore her gaze away, getting an appropriate coat for herself, and one for Daenerys, offering to put it on the other woman.

“Turn around, Your Grace.”

Daenerys obliged immediately, the furs enveloping her perfectly the moment Sansa put the coat over her shoulders. She looked… good, when she turned back to face Sansa, small and lovely in Sansa’s furs, like she belonged in The North. The thought ignites something warm within Sansa, prompting her to hold the woman’s face in her hands, Daenerys’ violet eyes sparkled at Sansa’s forwardness and she nodded her assent, leading Sansa to capture her lips in a soft kiss. They kissed slowly, like they had all the time in the world, like there wasn’t a looming threat that would arrive at their doorsteps soon, like nothing else but the two of them mattered; their moments were theirs alone, private and quiet.

“Let’s go on that walk, Daenerys,” Sansa spoke softly, not wanting to disturb the still quietness of the night. Daenerys hummed in response, her hand slipping down to let her fingers weave in with Sansa’s, who led them out of the room. Both women told their respective guards to not follow them on their night walk, much to their shock and horror. Two Queens, to be left completely alone, was not something advisable. After much pondering, Daenerys suggested that the guards hang back, out of earshot, since they were stubborn enough to not let the women walk alone. Perhaps such a thing had been a mad thing to suggest in the first place, Sansa would say a while later, causing Daenerys to laugh, and sneak a glance at their guards’ stoic faces, alert eyes despite the late hour of the night.

 

The moonlight was faint but still illuminated Daenerys’ hair, making it shine brightly. She truly did look like she’d stepped right out of the books about the Age of Heroes that lay in the Library. She looked resplendent, standing next to Sansa at one of the multiple parapets of the castle, her hair freer than usual due to the late hour, slightly flowing because of the chilly breeze.

“I’m scared of what might happen,” Daenerys spoke steadily, despite the same sentiment weighing heavily on her mind. Despite her earlier speech in the war room.

“You’d be a fool if you said you weren’t,” Sansa responded, without any bite in her tone, her palm covering one of the other woman’s hands on the railing, “It’s terrifying.”

“Do you think we can win?”

Sansa lost her words for a brief few seconds, before she decided to tell the Queen beside her, her true opinion, “I do think... we have a fighting chance. But this is an unprecedented fight that is coming to our doorsteps, and I don’t know any preparations we’ve made will be enough.”

Daenerys shuddered at her words, her eyes closing as a sigh escaped her lips. Sansa gripped her hand tighter, making Daenerys turn towards her. Gods, Sansa was a sight… the Red Wolf underneath a waxing moon, the Queen in the North, soon to be crowned once the threat of the White Walkers was dealt with. Daenerys stared at her, a hint of fear colouring her violet eyes, admiration for the woman beside her, holding her hand tightly. Sansa was a tad cold to the touch, but it might have had something to do with the fact that Daenerys was always warm to the touch, the cold didn't help either. Sansa's next words weren't cold however.

"We have a want to stay alive," Sansa looked up at the moon, hidden behind a few clouds, "we say we're not scared to die sometimes. But we have this urge within us, a need, something like…"

"Faith."

"Faith. In ourselves?" the red haired woman queried seemingly no one in particular, "Maybe so. It keeps us going, keeps us alive."

Daenerys turned her body towards Sansa, "I don't want _us_ to die, Sansa. Not before -"

Sansa's eyebrows raised at Daenerys' paused statement, her interest piqued tenfold. They had discussed their kisses in the clearing, not as much in depth as both of them wanted to, their duties had called out to them too often for that. Sansa did have some time to think it over, she had responded to the other Queen's lips quite willingly. To say she hadn't seen it coming would be a lie, she had noted a few times that the Queen's eyes had flitted down to look at her lips. It wasn't like she didn't want to kiss her either. However, what it meant for both of them… now that was a mystery. As per Daenerys' announcement in private in the clearing, and then in public to the entire North, Sansa was also a Queen now. As Queens of neighbouring kingdoms, would a romance between them be advisable? Possibly not. Selfishly, Sansa had put that particular question to the back of her mind; it would be answered when it needed to be answered. Preferring to live in the moment was a decision she consciously made, which led her to kiss Daenerys in her chambers just a few minutes ago. Selfishly, Sansa had enjoyed it when the silver haired woman kissed her back. Selfishly, Sansa wanted to hold Daenerys' hands and never let go.

 

"Not before I see you get crowned," Daenerys chose a safer answer than what she originally wanted to say, and it was evident in her eyes. She took a deep breath, shook her head for a brief second, "I… I want to admit something to you, Sansa. But I am scared it isn't the right time for it."

"Is that something for you to decide by yourself, Daenerys?" Sansa's voice was gentle, the fearsome Dragon Queen stood in front of her, admitting to more than one of her fears. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on her. She placed her hands on Daenerys' shoulders, which she discovered to be shaking slightly.

"No, it isn't. It's selfish of me to decide so."

It comforted a part of Sansa, knowing that she wasn't the only one being selfish. But another part of her was pleasantly surprised by Daenerys' words. What was it with this woman?

"You must tell me. When should I say what I want to say to you, Your Grace?" Daenerys held on to Sansa's hands, an almost pleading look in her always glittering eyes. _Was there something else behind the pleading_ , Sansa thought to herself, searching the woman's eyes for an answer she wanted.

Sansa had had too many of her choices made for her. Too many times she was forced to go along with whatever someone else decided for her. Then came along Daenerys. A woman who seemed to be unrelenting in giving the North its well earned freedom, but then changed her mind over a few days. Now she was asking when Sansa wanted answers from her. Sansa was to make a decision when she wanted her bubble to break, or to be formed into something real and beautiful. It was Sansa's choice.

"We're going to survive this, Daenerys," there was conviction in Sansa's voice, it might have been a complete lie, but the steadiness in her tone made it seem like the only truth ever, "We are going to survive, and then… then we will discuss everything we need to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to write a bit more for this particular canon divergence, and I do have a few ideas for the next chapter(s?) - I haven't decided how much more I will add to this, but you can definitely expect a resolution to everything. I hope you all liked this chapter!


End file.
